


A soldier's notebook

by BearsOnTheRun



Category: doesn't have one sorry
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 08:18:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BearsOnTheRun/pseuds/BearsOnTheRun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A gay man is drafted into the Vietnam war in 1956. He is asked by his partner to start a journal a month before the war just in case one of them got drafted and he would do the same. This is so if one of them is lost they will never forget what happened to them or others they met. </p><p>this story is something I'm still working on comments would be very much appreciated good or bad. Any ideas to make it better are welcome.<br/>If you actually read this I'm so sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A soldier's notebook

The soldier’s notebook  
Journal entry 1:  
November 7, 1956  
How does anyone every start a journal? Well here goes.  
Dear journal  
No too formal, all of this, maybe I’ll just start writing and see how it goes. I read the news today, it read with large, dark print “War in Vietnam”. My Ezra fears I may be drafted along with him. I fear the same. I should probably fill you in. My name is Louis “Frankie” Franklin and my partner’s name is Ezra Kendall. We are both American and live together in Schleswig, Iowa. The year of “Heartbreak Hotel” and The King and I. Harlequin print is all the rage and women now wear a style of below-mid-calf length, full-skirt, pointed bust, small waist, and rounded shoulder line dresses. 1950’s life is good but war lingers over our heads, the populace full with trepidation. Children still play though and men still work, women cook and sew. Daily life still lives on, seeming to be unaltered except behind closed doors. Children still go to school and listen to the radio. The war affects all but no one shows the underlined worry they feel. Men act as though the terror of drafting is not there but I feel it every hour, fearing for Ezra and myself.  
Journal entry 2:  
November 12, 1956  
Today is very dull. My worry of the war has only been stressing me out and Ezra is having trouble coping with the fact we may be drafted. Daft people say it will never happen, but Ezra rears the worst. He has advised me to construct a will. I don’t think this necessary; Ezra is set in his ways though. He wants us to be safe and has already written his. 

Journal entry 3:  
November 27, 1956  
I have been thinking that I’ll just address this notebook as being Ezra.  
Dear Ezra,  
We are still together but the impending worry of war is still looming above. I have decided to set up my wishes for when I die. I have followed you instruction and am now writing my will. You will be my only beneficiary; you are the only one who has stuck by me. My mother and father as you know left when I told them of my homosexuality. I leave with you the home we share and my 1953-1954 Hudson Super Jet. I leave you all the china and all my personally belongings along with 20,000 dollars.  
Journal entry 4:  
December 4, 1956  
Dear Ezra,  
As you know I have been drafted to serve. I depart on the 13th of December. I wish not to waste my time I have with you writing such nonsense like on this page. I fear I may not write for a long time. I wish to only spend time with my gorgeous Ezra. You haven’t been drafted yet and I am yearning it to stay this way for the derision of the war. I may leave you and never come home with only this notebook as a faint memory of me, but I want you to know I love you. I will always feel so even if I never again tell you or hold you. I shall always watch over you like you watch over me.  
Journal entry 5:  
December 13, 1956  
Dear Ezra,  
I’m leaving today, I’m scared Ezra. I fear leaving beautiful America; I don’t want to go to Vietnam. I hear it rains too much and horrible tails of gangrene. People receive letters that say horrid things of the living conditions. I hear all these things on the plane over to. I try to keep my chin up and my head held high. I do not want fear to get the best of me; I have too much pride for such. Other men weep for home and scream profanity. I sit still numb not quite absorbing the impact this will have on me. I don’t feel many emotions. I just wait and wait, that’s all I can do.  
Journal entry 6:  
December 20, 1956  
Dear Ezra,  
I’m deeply remorseful for not writing you, I send you letters still. We started training today and it was very difficult. We are training for a month at the base in Chu Lai and then going to Hue. I fear January. I won’t spend Christmas with you and for that I apologize. I wish you a merry Christmas and New Year. I don’t have present for you so all I have for you is my love. I hope the love I feel for you is enough. I don’t write enough, I know time is limited and I must keep my scribble short. I tell you this a bit too much but I wish you to know I miss you very much and long to see you every second I’m away.  
Journal entry 7:  
January 3, 1957  
Dear Ezra,  
I leave for battle on the 20th and it has finally hit me. I’m going to have to kill other people. I no longer fear for myself. I am only terrified of what I will have to do. I’m a mere foot soldier and they have it worse than anyone. We are becoming the beasts people tell their children are not real. We are the evils that lurk in the closet of small children. We kill and prowl, we are ruthless. I don’t want to become savage like so many others who came back from WWII. They are desensitizes and lack all emotion, I don’t want to go to war. Why do all the good die young. All people cry when a good man goes to war.  
Journal entry 8:  
January 20, 1957  
Dear Ezra,  
Today I go to war I will not be writing for a long while. We are equipped with guns and bags of supplies. The packs we carry are sixty pounds. They are awkward to carry and make it hard to run. I feel like it may symbolize the weight that everyone carries and the weight of the world. Every man carries the same amount of weight and must carry it all day and most hours of the night. I hear people get attacked at night by the enemy. This makes me fear sleep but also applaud the enemy on intelligence. I know I shouldn’t think of them as people but as hound to make it easier to kill them, I can’t do so because they are people. I will have to kill them. Seeing them as people will only impair my judgment but I shall never waver in my opinion that they are people.

Journal entry 9:  
February 5, 1957  
Dear Ezra,  
I was correct in thinking them as people would affect me. I had to murder for the first time today. It was strange; I had never felt so sorrowful and remorseful. I yearn to go home. I know such a thing won’t be happening anytime soon. I long for your cooking and a nice hot fire to dry my feet by. I miss the weather in Iowa. The snow and coldness of early February, I want the gloves and coats. I miss the children laughing and playing. I want all of it, the inability of walking and the below zero temperatures, but I mostly want you sipping you tea and me my hot chocolate. I miss you throwing snow and me returning fire. Now the only returning fire I give is a bullet at an opposing foot soldier. I long for you embrace and you touch all together.

Journal entry 10:  
February 14, 1957  
Dear Ezra,  
Today is Valentine’s Day; I wish to take you dinner. I have a dream last night that we were together again. I was baking apple pie very badly may I add. You were telling me about how life had been before I got home. You were sitting by the fire roasting chestnuts and unusual thing this time of year. I was then making tea and frying grilled cheese. I was happy and content, they I woke with a start. A loud gunshot had shocked me. I ran in the darkness, they hadn’t been shooting my but I ran anyway, it was so close. I don’t like it here but you keep me optimistic when the sky is grey. You light the way through the darkness, the only thing that keeps me going.

Journal entry 11:  
March 2, 1957  
Dear Ezra,  
Today I was crawling through the underbrush of the dense forest and saw an unarmed man. He appeared to be wandering farmer. It was very unusual he was tan with eyes that looked like he was constantly squinting. He had golden sun kissed skin. He appeared to be about five feet two inches. He had dark hair and wore tan clothing. He was very skinny and I believe he farms rice, but I am not sure. He ran as soon as he saw me, afraid. There was a sting in my chest when he ran. I felt pain that he feared me. I even let a single tear slip from my eye and I turned and walked away.


End file.
